Agent Brightside
by E. Nergetic
Summary: For Ben Wyatt, life as a federal profiling agent is a series of terrifying psychological murder mysteries and cheap motel rooms. Traveling the country has left Ben cold, but the moment he sets foot in Pawnee, Indiana, he knows something's different - if only because of a certain overeager Deputy Sheriff. AU starting in "Master Plan" rated for language and subject matter.
1. Prologue

**So I've had this idea for an AU floating around in my head for a while now, and I'm really excited to share it with you guys! I got the inspiration from a prompt on the tumblr blog Awful AUs (which, I'm going to be totally honest, I do co-run - but to be fair I didn't write this prompt). It is as follows:**

 ** _Awful AU #337_  
"I've been assigned by the FBI to investigate a series of disappearances in a small rural town and you're the local sheriff who's Very Pissed Off that I'm now in charge of your investigation" AU  
**

 **I tweaked it a little bit to fit the show better and then things just sort of took off from there!**

 **This is probably going to be fairly long. I'm not 100% sure how many chapters, but I can tell you that I've got the whole thing outlined. The next chapter is completely written and the one after that is about two-thirds written. We shall see.**

 **I don't own Parks and Recreation (though I kinda wish I did) or any affiliated characters/storylines/etc. Also the title is a play on the song _Mr. Brightside_ by the Killers, which I also do not own. I _do_ own Awful AUs. Actually I co-own Awful AUs. Whatever.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Agent Brightside**

 **Prologue**

 **September 6, 2015**

* * *

In the darkness of his anonymous motel room, Ben Wyatt perched on the edge of the end of his bed. He reached up with numb hands and loosened his too-tight tie and the pulled the damn thing up over his head. He tried to hurl it at the wall in his barely-suppressed rage, but it just fluttered to the floor two feet short of its' target. _Figures._

He sighed, long and loud, and rubbed his face in his hands. Every muscle in his body ached, every joint creaked, but he knew it would be hours yet before he got to sleep.

It wasn't the fact that he'd been living in this motel room for six weeks or that he'd been working non-stop pretty much since the moment he and his partner, Chris Traeger, arrived that had him so exhausted. It wasn't even that his supervisory agent was dogging him about when they would be done with this case and on the way back to Quantico.

It was that they were too late. He took too long agonizing over the profile. By the time they'd identified their unsub as thirty-seven-year-old Brendon Morrissey, it was over. The officers had arrived at Morrissey's house to find the eighth victim's mangled body right beside Morrissey, who was cold and unmoving due to a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. He knew it wasn't his fault; who could blame him for wanting to be as thorough as possible?

The Amity Park Police Department could, apparently. Sidelong glares followed him like his own shadow through the eerily quiet police department earlier that day, out into the parking lot, on the drive home. Even now in the silence of his tiny room, he felt them slithering on his skin.

So maybe it sort of _was_ his fault. Indirectly, of course.

He groaned quietly and threw himself backwards so that his upper body could bounce on the stiff mattress. The ceiling was caked with that cheap popcorn stuff that was so popular back in the eighties. He tried to find patterns in the off-white substance.

He heard a quiet knock on the unlocked door that conjoined his room with Chris'. "Come in," he said without moving.

"Ben Wyatt!" Chris said in his usual cheerful tone the moment the door opened. Ben rolled his eyes. "I just got a call from the boys upstairs. They have another case for us!"

Ben sat up slowly. "Already?"

Chris smiled so widely Ben wondered if his face hurt. "Yes! We're going to drop by a small city called Pawnee, Indiana. Apparently there's been a pretty high-profile kidnapping in their area, and their sheriff's department could use our help."

"Sheriff's department?" Ben said less-than-enthusiastically. They knew what sheriff's department was code for: _tiny_. The smaller the department, the more hatred they tended to throw at them.

At least Chris had the awareness to slump his shoulders a little in understanding. "I know. But this should be fast! It's just one victim so far."

"So why do they want an FBI profiling team?" Ben grumbled.

"Like I said, it's fairly high-profile. It's a local celebrity that's gone missing. I got the feeling that they're only asking for our assistance due to pressure from the community."

Ben grunted and fell backwards again. "Fine. Whatever. What time do we leave?"

"First thing tomorrow morning!" Chris flashed him a thumbs-up. "Now, I'm going on my night run. Would you care to join me?"

He always asked. And Ben always answered with a resounding "No."

"Alright! See you tomorrow!"

Ben waited until he heard the front door to Chris' room close to release a longer, louder, more tortured groan than before.

 _Great._


	2. Chapter One

**Yay, the first real chapter!**

 **I sort of felt like I'd crammed too much in this, but then I went back and watched "Master Plan" and realized they had even more happen in the course of that one episode. So technically, I sort of split that episode in half in terms of major plot points.**

 **I don't own Parks and Recreation. I did mirror the exact dialogue in a few places (namely when Ben and Chris first meet everyone and when Ben speaks with Leslie at the Snakehole). I don't own any of that either.**

 **I hope you guys enjoy this!**

* * *

 **Agent Brightside**

 **Chapter One**

 **September 7, 2015**

* * *

Ben's alarm started buzzing at 5:30 AM and he only hit snooze once. He rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling and let the day before wash over him. His guilt consumed him, ripped and tore at his insides, until he felt like he was about to disintegrate into the mattress.

But the moment his alarm buzzed again, the guilt was gone. He could already hear Chris moving around in the next room, humming to himself, and with a long sigh Ben threw his comforter back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bag was already neatly packed and waiting for him by the front door and his suit was draped over the over-stuffed armchair in the corner. It took him exactly seven minutes to dress, comb his hair down, and brush his teeth. Chris was already waiting on the landing outside of their rooms when Ben meandered outside.

He didn't really listen to whatever it was Chris prattled on about between their rooms and the lobby where they dropped their room keys off and grunted what he hoped was an agreement when Chris said, "Can you believe it?"

"It's about five hours," Chris said as they slid into the all-black FBI-provided SUV. "I was thinking we could switch off half-way? We'll be there by eleven!"

"Sure, sounds good," Ben said absently. He was already lost in the latest chapter of his ongoing Star Trek fanfiction saga.

Two and a half hours passed by in a blur and then Ben was forced to steer the car while Chris flipped through the radio stations incessantly until he found a song he liked, and then he was all flailing limbs and terrible singing. Somehow, the second half seemed far longer than the first.

"We're staying at the Pawnee Super Suites Motel." Chris read from an email on his phone once the road signs for Pawnee started cropping up on the sides of the lonely two-way highway. Ben hummed. "Apparently it has a history of bedbugs... _oh!_ They have free movie screenings every Friday night in their lobby!"

"Great." Ben said.

"Isn't it?"

"I didn't...I wasn't being…" Ben trailed off with a sigh. So his sarcasm went sailing straight over Chris' head 97% of the time. It was almost better that way. It sort of made his life like a comedy rather than a terrifying psychological horror movie. Or at least that's he told himself.

"I was thinking we could stop there first to drop our bags off and then we can go straight to the sheriff's department to get our hands on that case file!"

"Sure." Ben said, furrowing his brow at the latest Pawnee sign. It welcomed them with their slogan: _"First in friendship, fourth in obesity."_ _Where the hell are we?_

The parking lot was empty save one car parked near the sliding glass entrance. Ben parked one spot down, and jumped when a racoon darted out from the other car and raced between them and the door. Ben cast a bewildered glance toward Chris, who, for once, also looked completely taken aback.

"Welcome to the Pawnee Super Suites Motel," a woman with a startlingly deep voice said disinterestedly when they walked inside. Ben hung back, scanning through the lobby while Chris worked his charm on the woman. He learned early on in their partnership that Chris had the uncanny ability to get their rooms upgraded just by being himself when checking in. Ben, on the other hand, had a knack for pissing people off with his down-to-business no-bullshit policies on life. He figured that's why they'd been thrown together - Chris kept things human while Ben made sure stuff actually got done.

Chris got them moved from two conjoined second story rooms in the middle of the building to two conjoined third-story suites over near the south edge of the building. Ben was rather surprised at the size of the place; his was all one room, but there were at least jutting pillars that separated the bedroom area from the living area. He didn't have long to look around, though, before Chris was knocking on his front door.

"The sheriff's department is only a ten minute drive from here." Chris informed him. Ben hummed and stared out the window. "We'll stop there and meet with their sheriff and their deputy sheriff. She seemed very kind when I spoke with her on the phone yesterday."

Ben jerked his head away from the window. "You already talked to them?" He asked. Chris nodded. "You know we're supposed to do that together!"

"I'm very sorry, but I think it's worth mentioning that _she_ reached out to _me_."

 _Oh_. "Still." Ben sank a little lower in his seat and furrowed his brow. He couldn't remember the last time an officer reached out to them before they'd even arrived in town. "She was nice?"

"Oh, incredibly nice! I actually look forward to meeting her and the sheriff."

"Well, I guess that's...good."

Chris chucked and cocked his head to the side the way he always did when he didn't quite understand Ben. "She really _does_ seem delightful."

"Cool."

The sheriff's department parking lot was, at the very least, a little more active than it's Pawnee Super Suites Motel counterpart. Half a dozen civilian cars and three sheriff's vehicles were parked in the lot up close to the building, but there was one spot right by the door that was open. Chris, being Chris, chalked it up to good fortune. But Ben knew better; already, they were trying to kiss ass.

"Hello hello!" Chris called the moment they were inside the door. Ben lingered and took it all in.

The whole building was split by a long front counter and a wall into which a large window and doorway were cut. Through the doorway Ben could see what looked to be a bullpen; desks cluttered with knick knacks and papers lined the perimeter while a communal desk sat in the middle. In the center of that desk was a box half-full of some sort of pastry or cookie. The actual entry way had that grimy feel of a small-town government building; the wall that separated the entrance from the interior was lined with framed antique black-and-white photographs that looked to be at least as old as he was. An abandoned shoe shine stand stood proudly at the other end of the entryway next to three empty faded orange plastic chairs that looked as though they'd definitely seen better days.

A large, portly man with greying hair and a brown sweatervest stood and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to reach Chris. "Hi, you must be the folks from the FBI! Ny mame is -" the man froze and furrowed his brow. "Wait, that's not right…" He shook his head and plastered another cheerful grin on his slightly-sweaty face. " _My name_ is Jerry Gergich."

He extended his hand toward Chris, but in true Chris fashion, he bypassed the handshake to do his pointing at faces and repeating names slowly thing. " _Jerry Gergich_." Jerry's eyebrows rose. He kept his hand extended for a moment, but eventually realized Chris would not be shaking it, so he lowered it slowly. "Jerry, we'd absolutely _love_ to speak with Sheriff Swanson."

"Oh sure, let me just give him a buzz -"

Movement in the to the left caught Ben's eye. Two people, a man and a woman, were standing in the doorway. The woman, a petite blonde with wide blue eyes and a smile so bright it rivaled Chris' took a few steps forward, her hand extended toward Chris. "I'm Deputy Sheriff Leslie Knope -"

" _Leslie Knope._ " Leslie faltered, stared at the finger level with her face, and cast a glance back at the man still standing in the doorway.

The man behind Leslie blinked a few times, his head turned away slightly in a way that clearly communicated his uncertainty, before he too moved toward Chris. "Sheriff Ron Swanson."

" _Ron Swanson._ "

Ron's extended hand curled into a fist, which he dropped and swung down by his hip a few times. "Okay." He said. Ben thought he might be frowning, but it was hard to tell since he had one of the thickest mustaches that he'd ever seen.

" _I_ am Special Agent Chris Traeger and _this_ -" he waved his hand toward Ben who promptly dropped his chin to his chest "- is my partner, Special Agent Ben Wyatt."

"It's very nice to meet you." Leslie said, and from his peripheral vision Ben could have sworn he saw her curtsy just a little bit. Never mind the fact that she was wearing pants with her uniform. "Would you gentlemen like a tour?"

"There is quite literally _nothing_ I would love more in this world than a tour of the great Pawnee Sheriff's Department, lead by Ron Swanson and Leslie Knope." Chris' voice was low and serious.

"Great!" Leslie said brightly.

"Ben?" Chris chirped, turning toward him for the first time since entering the building.

"I don't think that's such a good idea -"

"Let's do it!"

At that precise moment, the front door banged open. Ben immediately made a grab at the gun holstered to his right hip, but it was tangled in his jacket. Not that it ended up mattering; a tall man with curly brown hair and a dopey grin sidled in clutching a plastic bag weighed down with a container full of something Ben couldn't see, and behind him was another small girl with dark hair and dark eyes and a wicked grin. "We're back, boss!" The man called cheerfully. "We got more of those strawberry whatever-the-fucks. Also, some jerk stole my spot by the door! Crazy, right? When are the FBI nerds gonna get here?"

A tense silence billowed over the room. Ben glanced at Chris to find his eyebrows raised and his mouth hanging open in shock. " _Andy_ ," Leslie hissed. She jerked her head at Chris and then at Ben.

"Oh, my bad. What's up, man, I'm Andy," Andy shuffled the bag to his other hand and extended his hand toward Chris, who was still in such shock that he actually shook his hand. "Those are some _sweet_ shoes, man. You wanna shine?"

The woman who'd come in behind Andy lifted the hood of her jacket over her head and cast a menacing deadpan gaze at Ben. "Are you one of the nerds?"

"Um -"

She rolled her eyes and breezed past Andy and Leslie and Ron and vanished into the bullpen. "Later, April!" Andy shouted, before reaching to hand the bag to Leslie. She took it with a tight-lipped mortified smile and jerked her head toward the shoe shine stand. "Alright, I'll be over there doin' my thing," he started walking backwards and nearly tripped over his own shoes. "Later days, dudes."

Ron closed his eyes and shook his head. Leslie, to her credit, managed to maintain her smile through it all, though her eyes were bulging a bit more than they were when she first appeared. "Right this way, gentlemen."

Ben maintained a three-foot distance from Leslie, Ron, and Chris, as they slowly wound their way through the department. He closed his eyes each time Chris repeated a new name (" _Tom Haverford._ What a lovely ascot! _Donna Meagle._ That is _lit'rally_ one of the greatest names I have _ever_ heard. _April Ludgate_. Good to see you again!") until at last they were grouped near the center desk. Two open containers of strawberry pastries sat forlornly beneath flickering fluorescent lights.

"My partner Ben and I would like to thank you all for your warm welcome!" Chris said. Ben could see Jerry and Andy bent awkwardly in the window so that they could listen in. "This has been the most wonderful tour in the history of tours. Now, I know what you're all thinking. We're a profiling team from the Federal Bureau of Investigations. _Ooooh_ ," he mimicked the sounds and movements of a Halloween bed sheet ghost, "what does that mean?"

Ben scanned the group surreptitiously while Chris spoke. Leslie wore a bright, hopeful grin, clasping her hands before her and bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. It's like she could hardly contain the energy in her body. "It simply means that we're here to look over all the clues this terrible person left behind and use our expertise and training to put together what is very likely a psychological picture of our suspect." April hunkered down behind her desk and rolled her eyes. Andy craned his neck a little to sneak a peek at her. "This is still _your_ investigation. We're here to help you get this villain off the streets and restore that wonderful sense of safety back to your citizens."

Ben had to stop himself from cringing. Of all the lies Chris told people through his mask of happiness, that was the most egregious. They were the demolition team sent in before the FBI seized the case for themselves.

"Now, my partner Ben is going to speak with Leslie and Ron about the case over in your lovely conference room," Chris glanced back at Ben, who nodded grimly. "And _I_ am going to go see _Andy_ about a shoe shine!"

"Alright!" Andy shouted enthusiastically. He tried to vault over the front counter, but his foot caught on the edge and he ended up tumbling over into a heap of limbs. He leapt up a second later, goofy grin still plastered to his face. "Nailed it!"

Ben sighed and moved toward a nervous Leslie and indifferent Ron. "Do you have a second?" He asked quietly. He didn't miss the way Ron's hand drifted up to lightly touch Leslie's back, right between her shoulders, in a gesture that was almost protective. Leslie inhaled deeply, reinforced her smile, and nodded.

As they settled in, Ben started unloading notepads and pens from his briefcase. As far as he could tell, there was nothing sexual about the way Ron had touched her, but there was definitely something significant there. In fact, everything about the way they interacted with each other suggested a partnership - no, a camaraderie - Ben hadn't seen in a long time. It made him feel slightly nostalgic for something he'd never had before.

"I really like your briefcase," Leslie tried. Her voice was edged with nerves.

"I'd like you to take me through the night Miss...Newport disappeared." Ben said without looking up.

"Um, well...actually, it's _Mrs_. _Wicks_ -Newport." Leslie said. Ben glanced up at her, and she smiled. Her face was probably going to hurt quite a bit the next day.

"We got the call around nine-thirty on Thursday morning." Ron said, casting a sidelong glance at Leslie. She ducked her head down, her smile gone. "They said she'd left the Sweetums offices around six-forty-five the previous night, but never came home. We found her car stalled out on the side of highway thirty-five."

Ben scribbled notes as Ron spoke. "And in the car, did you find anything?"

"Her purse, which contained her cell phone and her wallet, and her keys, which were still in the ignition."

"Was there anything that seemed unusual about the area around the car?"

"Besides a set of tire marks behind her car, no."

"Was there anything at the scene that would suggest she didn't leave voluntarily?"

Leslie made a sound in the back of her throat. Ben glanced up to find her exchanging a look with Ron. "I don't think that's pertinent to this investigation." She said as she looked away from Ron.

"Um, I think it's _extremely_ pertinent to the investigation. It _is_ the investigation."

"Look, I know Jessica Wicks-Newport personally, and I can guarantee you that she would never just abandon her family. She is one of the greatest people in this town, she's universally adored around here -"

"Well -" Ron cut in.

"Frankly, I think you just need to focus on the man or woman who committed this felony rather than trying to blame the victim."

"Miss Knope, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but there's about a fifty percent chance Jessica Wicks-Newport decided she was done with her life here in Pawnee and just _left_. Since she's the only disappearance in this area and there were no glaringly obvious signs at the scene, we need to be sure that this is an actual case before we take over the investigation."

"T-take, take over? Chris said you guys are just here to help -"

"Yeah, he said that because it sounds a lot better than _'it's our case now.'_ "

Leslie was all-out glaring at him now; her entire face scrunched in a way that was vaguely similar to an angry toddler. Ron, on the other hand, nearly squealed with delight. Ben wasn't sure which was weirder.

"You're a jerk." Leslie snapped.

"I'm sorry?" Ben said in disbelief. He'd had eggs thrown at his car and nasty anonymous notes nailed to his motel room door, but he'd never been called a name to his face. Especially not five minutes in.

"Easy -" At least Ron had the decency to look embarrassed for Leslie's sake.

"No, these are real people in a real building in a _real_ town with _real_ feelings."

 _This has to be a new record for fastest time an officer has hated me._ "This town has feelings?" Ben asked, no longer caring if Leslie or Ron or the entire fucking town hated him. He didn't care. He welcomed it.

Leslie looked a little taken aback at his patronizing tone. "Maybe." She spat. "There's a lot of history, who's to say it doesn't have feelings? How can you be so insensitive about this?"

"Because I'm here to do my _job_ , Miss Knope. I'm here to catch a criminal and hopefully save a few lives in the process. I'm here because _you_ -" he pointed at Ron "- decided that your department was too small and ineffective to handle this on its' own. And in order to do that, I need to first determine whether or not this case is actually worth my time."

If he thought she was mad before, she was enraged now. She started spluttering, but apparently her brain was working faster than her mouth, for all that came out was a few broken phrases and accusatory _'you,_ _you-_ 's."I'll get what I need from the case file." He said as he shuffled everything back into his briefcase.

He could feel the other officers staring at him as he made his escape, but he kept his eyes on the front door. He seized the case file off the counter where Jerry had left it. "Chris," he barked when he marched through the entryway.

"What happened in there?" Chris asked once they were back in the car.

"What do you think happened?" Ben sighed. He could still feel the judgmental glares of the officers back in Amity Park tearing at his skin, joined now in chorus by the Pawnee Sheriff's Department.

Chris pulled the car over to the side of the road so he could turn and look at Ben head-on. "Ben, I understand that our job is stressful and that we don't have the greatest history with previous departments," Ben rolled his eyes, "but you _can't_ take your anger and frustration with cases we've already completed out on a brand new department. Now, would you like to tell me what happened in that conference room?"

Ben slumped down a bit further in his seat. "I snapped at them." He confessed. He could practically feel Chris' disappointment. "I told them we're taking over the case."

Chris heaved a deep, heavy sigh. "That settles it. We're going to the Snakehole Lounge later this evening for the lovely April Ludgate's twenty-first birthday party."

"Um, what?"

Chris pulled off the side of the road and merged back into traffic. "The whole department will be there. It'll be a great opportunity to apologize to Sheriff Swanson and Deputy Knope."

"Can't I just do it tomorrow?"

"It's extremely important that we have the support of local law enforcement from the first moment we start a case. You know that."

"They're in the middle of an investigation," he tried, "is it really appropriate to have the whole department out at a bar on a Thursday night?"

"Ben."

"Fine. Whatever."

He could hardly concentrate on the case file when he got back to his motel room. He just couldn't shake the mental image of Leslie's scrunched up rage face. It was almost cute in a crazy, I-want-to-kill-you kind of way.

Three hours later he changed out of his suit into khakis and a button-down flannel shirt, as if changing clothes would help him concentrate. It didn't. At nine, Chris knocked on his front door. Ben threw a windbreaker on at the last moment; Indiana still had a slight nip in the late April air.

As it turned out, Ben's concerns about the appropriateness of the event were unnecessary. MapQuest sent them two towns over, which was fortunate for the case. Unfortunately, the Snakehole Lounge was not a bar.

It was a full-out club. Girls in slinky dresses and towering heels teetered through the pothole-riddled parking lot toward the entrance, held up by beefy dudes in too-tight t-shirts and sunglasses. Dread quickly spread through his veins at the thought of going inside.

"Are you sure they meant _here?_ " Ben asked just as he spotted the neon _Snakehole Lounge_ sign hanging above a non-descript black door.

"Andy Dwyer was very specific," Chris said cheerfully. "Apparently Tom Haverford is a part-owner here. He's the one throwing the party for April Ludgate."

Ben rolled his eyes and tried to calculate how many hours he needed to survive before Chris would stop saying everyone's full names when addressing them.

The music was so loud Ben could feel the floor thumping beneath his feet once they were inside. The whole place reeked of alcohol and desperation; too-beautiful women slung their bodies across too-perfect men. If Chris were beefier and just a little drunk, he would fit right in.

He was just about to lean over to Chris and beg to leave when he spotted Ron and a woman he'd seen at the station earlier whose name he couldn't quite remember - Dana, maybe? - in conversation near the bar. Chris spotted them at the same time and gestured for Ben to follow him through a throng of gyrating people.

"Ron Swanson and Donna Meagle!" Chris cried once they were within earshot. _Oh. Donna._ The two turned and smiled politely. "It's positively marvelous to see you both here!"

"Chris, right?" Donna shouted over the rim of her half-empty glass.

"Right! Good memory!" Chris glanced back at Ben, who'd already shrugged out of his windbreaker. "I'm going to get myself and my good friend Ben here a drink, if you'll excuse me!"

And then Ben was left alone with a silently judging Donna and a vaguely threatening Ron. "Ron, I just…" Ron leaned forward, brow furrowed in concentration. "I just wanted to apologize if I was rude earlier." Ben said a little more loudly. "I've been under a lot of pressure lately. Chris and I just got done with a case that didn't end well and I haven't had time to process it yet. I didn't mean to take it out on you or Leslie."

"Son, that's quite alright," Ron brushed his apology off with a shrug. "I honestly don't care."

Ben chewed the inside of his cheek and nodded. _One down, one to go._ "Is, uh, is Leslie here?"

Ron tilted his head to gauge the crowd behind Ben. "She is." He confirmed. "She's somewhere around here with the nurse. Not sure where they got off to."

But he'd already spotted her, sitting in a small booth on the other side of the dance floor with another woman who had dark hair. She'd changed out of her black pant suit into a red shirt that was cut dangerously low and a black blazer on top of that. He wondered if she was the kind of person who would wear jeans to a club; he couldn't tell, since she was tucked into a table between her and her friend that was littered with half a dozen empty beer bottles and empty glasses. He could tell by the way they were both swaying slightly as they spoke to each other that they were more than a little intoxicated.

"Thanks," Ben said. He sort of wished he had at least one bottle of beer in his system to calm his suddenly frayed nerves. _Just go and get it over with_.

She spotted him just as he slipped between Donna and Ron. All the joy in her face vanished in an instant; she glared, leaned toward her friend, and started muttering. He clenched his jaw and shuffled his windbreaker over to his left hand.

"Hi," he said when he thought she could hear him. He was close enough to see that her lipstick was the exact same shade of crimson as her shirt.

"Hello, Ben." She said. She lifted her hand up and for a moment he thought she was going for a handshake, but when she held it like a queen waiting for someone to kiss the back of her hand, he almost laughed.

"Um…" he twisted his hand down and grasped it. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, a glare still twisting her features. "Look, uh, I kinda feel like we got off on the wrong foot." _That's a fucking understatement._ "So I just wanted to…" he glanced back at the chaotic dance floor, before turning back to Leslie and her friend, "stop by and -"

"Yeah, well save your breath, okay?" _Shit._ "Just get outta here. Because this is a party with my friends and you're trying to fire all of my friends."

"I'm not -"

"Plus I just talked to everybody in this bar and _nobody_ wants you here."

As Ben stood there and took in exactly how drunk Leslie was - her bloodshot eyes, the way she hiccupped every now and then - he almost laughed. It was all just so ridiculous, especially considering he found angry drunk Leslie to be oddly adorable. Again, in an I'm-going-to-kill-you kind of way. "Really?" He asked. She nodded. "That must have taken a long time."

"It did." Leslie spat the words out and spat on herself a little in the process. Ben snorted.

"Um, okay. Well, I'll, I'll...just see you tomorrow." He took a step backwards. "Sorry to bother you."

"Get _out_ of here."

He shook his head and made his way back to the bar, where Chris was only just being served their drinks - a bottle of water for him, a bottle of Miller Lite for Ben. Ben took it and pulled a long, slow swig, before asking Chris for the keys. "Can you take a cab back?"

"Certainly! Did you get a chance to speak with Ron Swanson and Leslie Knope?"

"Uh, yeah. I talked to both of them."

"And?"

"And, nothing. It's done." He took the keys from Chris' outstretched hand. "I'll see you later."

Ben stopped by the grocery store and bought a six pack of Miller Lite and a handle of cheap vodka before returning back to his motel room and marathoning the third season of _Battlestar Galactica_ on his laptop _._ The six pack and the vodka were shoved in the tiny mini-fridge next to the couch near the front door. He was sound asleep before he even heard Chris come home.

All in all, _not_ the greatest start to a case he'd ever experienced.


End file.
